


sparks like the sun

by Shinybug



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Anal Sex, Feels, First Kiss, First Time, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-11
Updated: 2020-09-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:47:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26401393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shinybug/pseuds/Shinybug
Summary: Athos’ gaze was steady on his, dim but discernible even in the dark from within the deep shadow of his hat brim. He looked exasperated, and d’Artagnan gave him a sheepish shrug and a grin. Athos pursed his lips and shook his head.“Admit it,” d’Artagnan whispered, “you needed this.”
Relationships: d'Artagnan/Athos | Comte de la Fère
Comments: 22
Kudos: 124





	sparks like the sun

**Author's Note:**

> Beta by the wonderful loki_lady, who has all my thanks. <3

“It’s not my fault,” d’Artagnan exclaimed as Athos grabbed him by the front of his shirt and hauled him out of the way of a chair leg, which was being swung at his head by a belligerent patron of the tavern they had recently vacated. The brawl had spilled out into the street, chaotic and exhilarating, and d’Artagnan saw Porthos cheerfully bashing another man and tossing him to the side to turn his attention to the next volunteer.

“It is entirely your fault,” Athos replied through gritted teeth.

“I was only offering my opinion on the rules of the game, and my opponent didn’t appreciate it.” He threw a punch at the man with the chair leg, which connected with the man's face in the most satisfying way.

Athos stood there, seemingly immune to the fighting going on all around them. “You accused him of cheating.”

“That’s because he was cheating,” d’Artagnan explained, knocking the man out cold with another punch.

“You didn’t need to insult his hat too.” Athos finally threw a punch of his own, and his man dropped perfunctorily.

“His hat was ridiculous,” d’Artagnan protested. “Everything about him was ridiculous.”

Athos sighed, and d’Artagnan heard it even over the din of the fighting.

Over near the door of the tavern d’Artagnan caught sight of Aramis at Porthos’ back, holding his own against two men. He looked positively pleased with himself. Porthos shouted something to him and Aramis grinned ruefully, his teeth flashing in the dark.

“Red Guard,” Aramis called out, and d’Artagnan turned around. They were rounding the corner of the street, and d’Artagnan grabbed Athos by the arm.

“Treville will have our heads,” he groaned, thinking of the lecture they’d received just the day before about brawling, about how it cast a pall over the entire company. He’d promised dire consequences to anyone caught fighting in the streets, and they had no doubt Treville was creative enough to conceive of something dreadful.

There was a shout of “Musketeers!” from a member of the Red Guard, and d’Artagnan cursed under his breath. They’d been recognized.

Porthos and Aramis waded through the melee to reach them. “We should split up and disappear,” Porthos suggested, and immediately took off down the street away from the Red Guard, Aramis at his heels.

Athos and d’Artagnan followed and then took a left at the corner, clinging to the shadows. D’Artagnan could hear the shouts of the Red Guards behind them, too close for comfort, and then Athos hissed, “This way,” and yanked d’Artagnan sharply by the sleeve into a narrow alley between two buildings.

They came to a dead end against another building and stopped abruptly within its shadow. The alley was so narrow that it was almost uncomfortable, and they each put their backs to different walls, facing each other. The moon was just a sliver of light, and d’Artagnan hoped the darkness would work in their favor. He tried to slow his breathing, and was amazed that Athos didn’t seem to be breathing hard at all.

D’Artagnan felt an absurd urge to laugh, the thrill of the fight and the chase having caught up with him. His heart was pounding and his veins were buzzing, and he felt rather ridiculous when he realized that they were no better than callow boys hiding from the authorities. Three members of the Red Guard passed by their alley but didn’t stop.

Athos’ gaze was steady on his, dim but discernible even in the dark from within the deep shadow of his hat brim. He looked exasperated, and d’Artagnan gave him a sheepish shrug and a grin. Athos pursed his lips and shook his head.

“Admit it,” d’Artagnan whispered, “you needed this.”

Athos raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms. There wasn’t quite enough room to do so and his forearms nearly brushed d’Artagnan’s chest.

“It was a boring night anyway,” d’Artagnan ventured, trying to get Athos to soften. He was so close that d’Artagnan could feel the warmth of his body.

“I wanted a quiet drink. I didn’t invite you along.”

That stung a little. “A friend should never let another friend drink alone.”

“That’s completely untrue.”

“Well, we only came along in the spirit of friendship. Is it so strange that we enjoy your company?”

Athos snorted softly. “I do my best to discourage that.”

D’Artagnan cocked his head to the side and pressed his palm to Athos’ arm before he could think better of it. “You’re terrible at it. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to spend time with you.”

Athos took an audible breath. D’Artagnan blushed, and was glad of the darkness. The rough brick walls seemed to press in even closer, and he tried to lean away but had nowhere to go.

“Do you think it’s safe now?” he asked, hoping to be able to escape before he did anything else foolish.

Athos turned his head, listening. “Let’s wait a little longer.”

D’Artagnan bit his lip and nodded. Athos uncrossed his arms and stared at his mouth, and d’Artagnan’s heart started to race all over again. Time seemed suspended in the air between them, slow like dust motes in a beam of light. He touched Athos’ arm again with a tentative hand, waiting for him to object. Athos remained still, watching him with wide eyes.

“Are you--” d’Artagnan began, then broke off when he heard the sound of boots on the cobblestones near the mouth of their alley.

“I’m sure I saw them around here. Check the alleys.”

“They’d be imbeciles to stay here. I think they’re long gone,” another voice protested.

“Just check,” the first voice said brusquely, and then multiple pairs of boots scuffed the stones as they walked briskly past.

“Athos,” d’Artagnan whispered, feeling trapped and desperate. He recalled his first meeting with Constance and how well that ruse had worked, and without thinking too hard about the consequences he pushed off the wall and into Athos’ space. “Forgive me.”

He slid his fingers into Athos’ hair, knocking his hat off, and pulled him close enough to feel the heat of Athos’ mouth hovering against his own, not yet touching. He shifted his leg up against Athos’ thigh, slotting their hips together tightly.

“You just,” Athos said hoarsely, his hands moving to grip at d’Artagnan’s waist. He never finished his sentence, staring at d’Artagnan with wide eyes.

“Kiss me,” d’Artagnan ordered, and it was like a spark had caught fire in the darkness, a flare that burned against his mouth as Athos closed the distance and kissed him roughly, holding him so tightly it hurt. He gasped when d’Artagnan licked across his lips, a flickering taste as he tried to listen with one ear for the guards.

He could hear the boots stop at the mouth of the alley, the hesitation before they started down toward them.

“Make some noise,” d’Artagnan hissed against his mouth.

“What?” Athos pulled away, panting, wrecked.

“Moan,” he demanded, and bit Athos’ lower lip.

Athos moaned loudly into his mouth, and d’Artagnan felt the vibration all the way down in his cock. The sound of boots stopped as the guard came to an abrupt halt.

“Again,” he said, a weak whisper, sliding his lips down the rough stubble of Athos’ neck and biting gently below his ear.

This time Athos growled and grabbed d’Artagnan’s head, forcing him back up for a devouring kiss, Athos’ tongue stroking into his mouth with a ferocity he hadn’t known Athos was capable of. Athos rocked his hips and this time it was d’Artagnan who moaned, thrusting back. They were both hard against one another, and d’Artagnan was dizzy with the need to split his focus between Athos and the guard.

Dimly he heard the footsteps retreating down the alley. “Just some lovers,” he said, sounding disgusted. “I didn’t care to watch.”

“I might,” said another guard, with amusement in his voice.

“Forget it,” said another, “we’re late to report in.”

They moved off together and d’Artagnan reluctantly pulled back far enough to see Athos’ face. He looked more alive than d’Artagnan had ever seen him, his gaze burning bright in the dark.

“Should I apologize?” Athos asked in an uncertain tone.

“I asked you to kiss me,” d’Artagnan replied, realizing that his hands were still in Athos’ hair but unwilling to remove them.

“You told me to,” Athos clarified. “There’s a difference.”

“Should I be the one to apologize, then?”

Athos dropped his gaze to d’Artagnan’s mouth. “Not for my sake.”

D’Artagnan could feel that Athos was hard against his hip, and he couldn’t help but shift against him, and Athos made a small grunt of surprise.

“Again,” Athos whispered.

D’Artagnan rocked into him again, harder, and tightened his hands in Athos’ hair. Athos hissed and tipped his head back, his mouth falling open. It was an instinctive thing to kiss him again, to lick his upper lip, to fit their mouths together with desperation and wonder.

Gradually d’Artagnan remembered where they were, and disentangled himself with regret. The air swirled cold between them and he shivered. “Not here,” he said, and his own voice was so rough it startled him.

Athos nodded, composing himself. D’Artagnan was dismayed to watch him close himself off again, like a house with shuttered windows. D’Artagnan wanted to reach out but didn’t dare; the moment was gone. Athos picked up his hat from the ground and dusted it off, placing it back on his head like armor.

They emerged from the alley cautiously, but there were no guards to be seen. They made their way through the darkened streets together, not speaking. D’Artagnan watched Athos out of the corner of his eye, but his face remained impassive.

When they turned onto the street where the Bonacieux’s lived, d’Artagnan’s stomach dropped, knowing he’d have to say goodnight and that they’d likely never speak of what happened in the alley again.

The thought of entering that house with its welcoming light and Constance watching him with warm expectation filled him with dread. As much as he cared for her, he knew he didn’t truly want her, and he was glad that they had never acted on their impulses. The initial thrill of infatuation had faded, leaving d’Artagnan with no choice but to acknowledge a deeper longing for someone else. The needle of his compass pointed true, and it pointed at someone he’d thought unattainable.

He wanted Athos, gruff, haunted Athos, and he wasn’t willing to lie to himself anymore.

Athos was oblivious to the sudden revelation that d’Artagnan was experiencing as they stood in the courtyard. D’Artagnan looked up at him, realizing that they’d been standing there together for long enough for it to be odd. Athos watched him, then looked at the door d’Artagnan was meant to go through, then back at him.

After another long moment Athos inclined his head slightly, inviting d’Artagnan to follow him. D’Artagnan’s pulse kicked up and he urged his leaden feet to move, leaving behind his lodgings and trailing behind Athos in a state of disbelief.

When they reached Athos’ door d’Artagnan entered cautiously, still unsure of his welcome. He had just enough time to register some spare furnishings, a humble bed, the moon illuminating the barest outlines through the window, then Athos fisted his hands in d'Artagnan's doublet and slammed him against the nearest wall, kissing him desperately. D’Artagnan’s knees went weak and he clutched at Athos, trying to find his balance, trying to catch up with what was happening.

“Tell me you want this,” Athos rasped against his cheek, sliding one warm hand inside d’Artagnan’s leather doublet and over the thin material of his shirt.

“Oh god,” d’Artagnan moaned, tipping his head back to give Athos better access to his throat, where Athos licked the sensitive skin over his pulse. “Don’t you know?”

“Tell. Me.” He punctuated the words with gentle bites, and d’Artagnan nearly slid down the wall.

“I want you,” he gasped. “I’ve always wanted you.”

The air rushed out of Athos’ lungs against his skin, and Athos rested his forehead against d’Artagnan’s. He shuddered once, his hands shaking. His fingers curled, his blunt nails scraping over the worn linen, causing d’Artagnan to gasp and shiver.

“More of that,” he whispered, and Athos pulled back to watch d’Artagnan’s face as he dragged his fingers down his ribs to his hip. D’Artagnan spun them around and shoved Athos back against the wall, mimicking the way they’d been in the alley, and Athos’ eyes were hot enough to burn d’Artagnan to his core.

Their sword belts were in the way, so d’Artagnan made short work of them while Athos watched, his hands cupped around d’Artagnan’s shoulders. The sound of leather slithering through buckles and sword hilts hitting the floor echoed in the quiet room, as did their unsteady breaths. D’Artagnan shoved his thigh between Athos’ and rocked up, and then again, and again, until Athos was panting and tugging at his doublet hard enough to strain the leather, sliding it off his arms and onto the floor. He got his hands under d’Artagnan’s shirt and didn’t bother to remove it, just clutched at his skin like he was starving for it.

“Athos,” d’Artagnan whispered, getting his hands in Athos’ hair, relishing the softly tangled feeling between his fingers. Athos inhaled sharply when d’Artagnan tugged back, watching Athos’ furrowed brow and flushed cheeks, and knew he’d discovered a secret pleasure. He wondered what other secrets he could learn, given enough time.

And that in itself was a reason to take a moment to breathe, even as he raked his fingers gently over Athos’ scalp to hear him moan. He was at Athos’ mercy, but he could also sense Athos bending to his will, a push and pull that was dizzying.

He removed his hands and Athos staggered, his dazed blue eyes focusing once more on d’Artagnan’s face. He took d’Artagnan’s hand in his and lifted it to his cheek. “You have me,” he murmured, kissing his palm softly.

Such a simple, unexpected statement, but so full of possibilities.

“I recall you telling me not to let my heart rule my head,” d’Artagnan said hesitantly, “so I don’t know how to receive that.”

“The heart has its place. I can admit when I’ve been a fool.”

D’Artagnan stroked his fingers down the softness of Athos’ beard. “I’d never call you that.”

Athos watched him silently, his eyes dark and his breath still quick.

“I’ve always been yours,” d’Artagnan whispered, laying himself open, fully exposed.

Athos’ mouth quirked up on one side, a smile d’Artagnan had never seen before. He rested his forehead on d’Artagnan’s shoulder for a moment, then turned his head to slide his lips along the junction of his neck and shoulder. Athos’ beard prickled brightly against his skin.

“Don’t tease,” d’Artagnan said, a barely audible plea, and Athos gathered the shoulder of his shirt in one fist and tugged it to the side so he could bite a line along d’Artagnan’s collarbone. D’Artagnan cried out and pressed himself closer, so sensitive that the shifting of fabric against his skin and the curl of Athos’ fingertips sent him trembling, desperate for more.

“I can’t see you,” Athos whispered against his skin.

D’Artagnan tugged him toward the bed and gently shoved until Athos lay down in a thin pool of moonlight that illuminated them both. “Now can you see me?” he asked, crawling over Athos and straddling his thighs. D’Artagnan stripped off his shirt and tossed it aside, letting Athos look.

Athos swallowed and nodded, reaching up to touch d’Artagnan’s chest with tentative fingers. He trailed his fingertips over the swell of his shoulder, the curve of his bicep, and the muscles jumped beneath his touch. D’Artagnan hissed and shivered.

“If we’re doing this…” Athos trailed off, looking uncertain.

D’Artagnan touched Athos’ mouth, sliding along his scar, and Athos kissed his fingertip. “What do you want?”

“Take me,” Athos whispered, almost inaudible. He looked vulnerable yet oddly defiant, as though he was bracing himself for rejection. “Would you?”

Heat rushed into d’Artagnan’s cheeks and his hips rocked in a stuttered motion against Athos’, his heart like a drum in his chest. He leaned down and kissed him, slow and deep, until Athos relaxed and shifted and they were tangled up in one another. “I’ll give you anything,” d’Artagnan replied, and Athos let out an unsteady breath.

They sat up to remove their clothes and d’Artagnan had to stop halfway through, his breeches hanging open around his hips, just to touch the warm plane of Athos’ belly, the line of dark hair arrowing downward toward his hard cock.

Athos frowned. “Hurry up,” he ordered in a low voice.

“No,” said d’Artagnan, and grinned.

When they were both stripped of clothes d’Artagnan took his time running his palms over every part of Athos that he could reach, straddling his thighs and letting their cocks brush against each other almost incidentally. He followed his hands with his mouth, discovering the curve of Athos’ ribs with his tongue, the pebbled nipples that made Athos curse and writhe against him.

“Do you have oil?” d’Artagnan asked, scraping his teeth against Athos’ hipbone. “I won’t do this without it.”

“In the cabinet over there,” Athos said, his voice rough.

D’Artagnan pushed off him and Athos made a breathless sound that he’d probably deny in the daylight. He hadn’t ever imagined that it would go this way between them, but now that they were here he could recognize a starving need in Athos, one that he had sensed for a long time but never understood in this context. It seemed to be for more than pleasure, it was for touch itself, it was for trust and letting go. D’Artagnan could give him that, and he felt the rightness of it curling brightly in his chest.

There was a tinderbox on the bedside table and d’Artagnan paused to light a candle, then glanced at Athos, now illuminated in golden lines. Athos was watching him silently, his gaze burning. D’Artagnan swallowed hard and felt the urge to lean down and kiss him again, but remembered his purpose and made his way to the cabinet.

The little bottle of oil was in a drawer with Athos’ shirts, tucked into the back, and d’Artagnan noted that it was half empty. “Do you do this to yourself when you’re alone?” he asked softly, rolling the bottle in his hands to warm it.

Athos nodded, pursing his lips and keeping whatever words he might say locked tight in his mouth.

D’Artagnan took out the cork and slicked his fingers. “Have you ever done this with someone else?”

“No,” Athos said shortly, defiantly, still clearly expecting rejection.

“That’s alright,” d’Artagnan said, a sharp thrill racing through him, and he couldn’t help but smile. “I have,” he continued, and Athos let out a soft breath.

At the first touch between his cheeks Athos groaned, a heartfelt sound. He accepted d’Artagnan’s fingers patiently, one by one, pushing back to get them deeper, shaking, sliding his hands into d’Artagnan’s hair and clutching gently. D’Artagnan slowly backed up and tilted his head down, Athos following the motion, and kissed the base of Athos’ cock. He licked up to the head and took him in his mouth, bitter salt spreading on his tongue, and Athos arched silently against him. He timed his movements with the thrusts of his fingers, and Athos gasped out his name.

“You’re ready,” d’Artagnan said when Athos was a trembling wreck, thrusting between fingers and mouth like he wasn’t sure which pleasure was greater, and it wasn’t a question so much as a reassurance. Athos nodded. D’Artagnan poured out more oil and slicked his cock until it glistened, feeling already too close to the edge just from Athos’ silky heat around his fingers. He wanted to memorize the image of Athos spread out on the bed for him, thighs open and eyes flashing, his flushed cheeks visible in the candlelight.

D’Artagnan started to sink into him but was interrupted by Athos pulling him down into a desperate kiss, hooking one arm around his neck and holding tight. D’Artagnan shifted into the embrace and slipped deeper with the new angle, and Athos’ groan was a gorgeous thing that d’Artagnan hoped never to forget.

Athos took over unexpectedly, rocking against him into a slow rhythm, not content to be passive even then. D’Artagnan felt once more that they were at each other’s mercy, balancing each other carefully. Athos’ fingers clutching at his hips spurred him faster, and he pulled back to brace himself on his arms. Athos turned his head to kiss d’Artagnan’s wrist, licking and biting at it, and d’Artagnan gasped at the unexpected sensation. With his other hand he ran his fingers through Athos’ hair, tangling gently in the soft strands. He could feel Athos’ cock jerk where it was trapped between them.

“Is this,” d’Artagnan implored, and couldn’t continue because Athos arched against him, his mouth open on a moan.

“Yes,” Athos replied brokenly, raking gentle fingers down d’Artagnan’s ribs, “yes. Like this.”

Despite his desire to last, he could feel a maelstrom gathering strength within him. He reached between them and grasped Athos’ cock, holding it tight and moving in time with the stroke of his hips. He chased the feeling and pulled Athos along with him, driving deeper into him with every thrust.

“More,” Athos demanded, digging his fingers into d’Artagnan’s back.

D’Artagnan leaned down to kiss him and the new angle made Athos arch back with a groan, then d’Artagnan felt him jerk and pulse between their bodies. Warmth spread across d’Artagnan’s belly, and Athos held him locked in place while he came. The relentless, rigid clutch of Athos’ body and the greedy way he took his pleasure pulled d’Artagnan over the edge inside him. The burning strength of it took him by surprise, sparking gold when he closed his eyes, leaving him unable to catch his breath.

He fell forward, barely able to hold himself up on trembling arms, resting his forehead in the curve of Athos’ neck and gasping for air. Athos’ arms came around him, soothing him with long sweeping touches down his back. He shifted, resettling, and his movement caused Athos to shudder and clench around his cock, and for a moment they rocked together again, sharing an unexpected echo of pleasure.

Too soon he slipped out of Athos’ body, and he watched his face for signs of pain but saw none. Still he felt compelled to ask, “Are you alright?”

Athos didn’t open his eyes but his mouth curved in the barest of smiles, which for Athos was as good as a wide grin. “I would have told you if I weren’t.”

“Would you? You usually keep things like that to yourself.”

Athos opened his eyes, and d’Artagnan saw nothing but complete satiation. “Not about this.”

D’Artagnan wondered if he was allowed to kiss him now. Things had been said between them that could possibly be taken back, could be blamed on the heat of the moment or the freedom that darkness allows, and he didn’t know how to ask. He bit his lip and searched Athos’ face for an answer.

Athos sighed and blinked slowly at him like he thought d’Artagnan was a bit dense, then leaned up to catch his mouth in a kiss. D’Artagnan relaxed against him and returned the kiss with heady relief, knowing that he himself had meant every word he’d said and believing that Athos might have too. He didn’t know what it would mean in the light of day, but he knew how this felt, and more than anything he wanted it to last.

“You’re surprisingly heavy,” Athos commented when they broke apart for air.

“Sorry,” d’Artagnan said quickly, and rolled to the side. He was suddenly aware that they were both a sticky mess, and he looked around for something to clean up with.

“Just use my shirt,” Athos said, pointing at where it had fallen. “It’s a worthy sacrifice.”

D’Artagnan grinned and carefully cleaned them both, then he was tugged back down to rest his head on Athos’ chest.

“This is all your fault, you know,” Athos murmured, trailing his fingers over the curve of d’Artagnan’s shoulder.

D’Artagnan thought about that for a moment. “Because I wouldn’t let you drink alone?”

“And you started a tavern brawl. And you kissed me in the alley.”

“You kissed me first,” d’Artagnan protested, smiling.

“You ordered me to.”

“Are you complaining?”

“Not in the slightest.”

They settled into silence for a while, and the only sound was the hissing of the candle wick as it burned down. “I didn’t know it would be that way,” d’Artagnan said hesitantly, tracing his fingers along the lines of Athos’ ribs.

“Which way do you mean?”

“Any of it.”

“You had never imagined it before?” Athos tensed, a slight shift in the way he held d’Artagnan against him.

“I had,” d’Artagnan assured him. “Believe me, I had. But I couldn’t have guessed how it would feel. How we would be.”

Athos slowly relaxed again, catching d’Artagnan’s wandering hand in his own. His fingers were sword-callused and warm, and he held d’Artagnan’s carefully. “Neither could I.”

For a long time they said nothing. Athos pulled a threadbare blanket over the two of them and d’Artagnan started to drowse, his earlier sharp pleasure now diffusing into soft heat throughout his limbs. He felt at home here in a room he’d never seen, with a man he’d never guessed he would be able to touch.

“Was it what you needed?” he whispered against Athos’ skin.

“It was a good start,” Athos replied, and d’Artagnan could hear the hint of a smile, a little flash of brightness in the dark.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Kudos and comments make my heart soar!


End file.
